Welcome to Adventu, your final fantasy rp haven. adventu focuses on both canon and original characters from different worlds and timelines that have all been pulled to the world of zephon: a familiar final fantasy-styled land where all adventurers will fight, explore, and make new personal connections.
at adventu, we believe that colorful story and plots far outweigh the need for a battle system. rp should be about the writing, the fun, and the creativity. you will see that the only system on our site is the encouragement to create amazing adventures with other members. welcome to adventu... how will you arrive?
year 5, quarter 3
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It had taken him several labor-intensive weeks of navigating a foreign world's closest anchor of civilization, this being the merchant city of Provo, for him to finally start feeling a sense of personal equilibrium, like how a seafarer regains his footing after a month out in open waters. He never had any issue finding jobs that paid well enough, and most people were content to leave him alone as he committed time and energy into earning his income. On the rare occasions he felt capable of tolerating the general public, Clyde would pick out the closest dive within a stone's throw and indulge in a pint of their cheapest available bar-swill. Sometimes, they'd even have shepherd's pie. It was passable, usually.
For all intents and purposes, Clyde was ordinary in every respect; a fly on the wall, hardly worth considering as being important or special. He didn't mind it, though. A civilian's life had its perks, tough as it could be in places, and nobody pays attention to people that mind their own business, which is how he preferred to go about his in the first place.
Which is why he found it particularly disquieting to receive a parchment letter at the break of dawn from the mail carrier two days earlier. On it were details about some kind of promotional event taking place near the Pale Coast southwest of Provo, offering recipients a "luxury cruise" aboard a magic-powered boat; apparently, it's bound for an island sanctuary where chocobos are bred and raised. Clyde had almost considered throwing the letter into his fireplace for kindling, until he'd caught wind of a much more jarring inscription scratched onto the back of the parchment, consisting of only four underscored words: "I'm always watching you."
At first, paranoia crept its way back into his mind. Who was always watching him? From where? For what purpose? Was this an elaborate ruse, or merely a cruel joke by some clown wanting to cause trouble with him? The thought of it being either of these possibilities left Clyde feeling deeply suspicious and concerned about the mysterious sender's identity and motivations all the same, but one thing was certain: someone was trying to lure him into the open, away from safety and shelter.
Unfortunately, the plan worked. And Clyde hated clowns.
-----
This event was supposed to last over the course of two days, so Clyde arranged for the tailors to outfit him with a black padded doublet and leather jerkin alongside a pair of trousers stitched from robust hides and a smoky gray cloak, while a cobbler made him some sturdy cuissardes to wear on his feet. Given how tough and rugged his ensemble looked, one could have easily presumed Clyde to be another adventurer, or even an experienced fighter; those curious enough to ask questions were given short, scripted replies and no further attention. He dressed for both comfort and practicality's sake. Everyone else could piss right off about it.
Getting to the Pale Coast was easier yet, courtesy of the chocobo rental services at Provo's borders. Generations of breeding and training result in birds that require hardly any effort to handle and control while riding them, and a steady rate of fresh-cut gysahl greens kept them nourished for the occasional sprint or two. Once he had arrived, Clyde was summarily corralled by one of the ranchers affiliated with the event's organizers, the Hero's Haven, and promptly guided to where this so-called "cruise boat" was moored alongside several others that showed up to take part.
Initial impressions of the liner were cynical, to say the least. Such an opulently furnished vessel, impressive as it looked, would attract thieves on the open waters, he surmised, even as Clyde's feet mechanically carried him up the wooden ramp and onto the polished deck. Glimpses here and there showed him that most of the passengers were adequately capable of protecting themselves in the off-chance things went dramatically south, redundant as it seemed in the moment. Combined with an abundance of leisurely activities all around the boat, Clyde had fully expected this to be little more than how it was advertised on the flyer: a meaningless diversion from his quiet life.
To demonstrate his wordless opinion of the situation, Clyde chose to spend a vast majority of his time in one of two places, either at the bar halfway into a flagon of whatever passes for ale on this boat, or at its stern gazing out into the horizon. In the former cases, Clyde made sure his body language translated into a lack of interest for casual conversation. In the latter, it was much the same, too, although his expressions and mannerisms, however subtle, were closer to those of a man lost in thought, rather than one who openly showed hostile contempt for being in proximity to others. Both cases usually yielded the solitude he desired.
Save for one exception.
-----
Enter: some woman calling herself "Renitra". Just like everyone else on this cruise, she looked forward to exploring this "Choco Island" while fully immersed in the comforts of a luxury getaway experience. Unlike a good majority of participants, however, she took the initiative to wear a full suit of leather armor dyed in yellows and blues, and also carried what seemed like two weapons on her person, one of which Clyde vaguely recognized as a halberd with far too much ornamentation; the other seemed closer to the sort of objects that Owzer liked to collect for his ridiculous art gallery, or a nautical sextant that also had far too much ornamentation.
Interactions with her were sparse and brief, like they were with anyone else who spoke to Clyde, mostly because he declined to speak with people on account of the message that had been scrawled on the back of his letter. "I'm always watching you"... The implications were clear enough. He didn't need others getting close to him, or involved in his affairs. Not while there were vermin on the prowl.
-----
Once the boat had docked at the island's harbor, the crowds slowly departed the vessel in single files while clamoring amongst themselves about how to best spend their time here. Clyde was among the last of the group to disembark, having allowed considerable space to form between himself and the rest so that he could observe events unfold in hawkish silence. Offering proof of invitation was a simple matter of showing the letter he'd received to the appropriate chaperones. There was no need to reveal the message written on the back. The last thing he wanted was to be the center of undesired attention.
But, not everyone gets what they want these days.
In the process of trying to break away from the group so that he could find some kind of vantage point and begin his investigation, one of the island's event managers had stopped him in his tracks to announce that, as a recipient of an invitation, his name would be entered into a random drawing that would result in his being partnered with another participant. "Clyde" was all they were given to work with, as he fully expected to abandon the festivities outright so that he could search for whoever sent him the threat.
He hadn't counted on the drawing taking place so quickly, though, and before he could even so much as excuse himself, another organizer cheerfully lent their assistance to the person whose name had been called out as Clyde's partner and, against his better wishes, pointed him out for easy identification.
When he recognized who it was, Clyde could do nothing but let off a drawn-out sigh.
-----
Which leads to the present moment. Renitra was offered a crude map outlining a network of caves scattered across the island, being told of a treasure that had been hidden inside prior to the boat's arrival on Choco Island. The rules were simple: find the treasure, and it's theirs to keep. Between the two of them, Renitra was the only one that felt any genuine eagerness to enjoy themselves and get lost in the festivities, whereas Clyde just wanted to get this over with so he could return to Provo and go back to his quiet life.
Besides, someone has to keep their cool, especially considering the warnings of sahagin activity in the area.
As Renitra questioned Clyde's capacity for conversation, he answered her by giving no reply at all. No, he wasn't much of a talker. At the very least, her next question was tangibly more useful and relevant. How would he go about finding a treasure in a cave teeming with dangerously territorial fishfolk? A quick glance at the cavern's gaping maw yielded nothing worthy of consideration, meaning it would require him to venture inside in order to determine how bad the danger really was.
Which also meant he had to do this stupid treasure hunt with Renitra.
The plan seemed obvious enough, even if she hadn't reached that conclusion by her own merits. “Avoid the sahagin,” Clyde spoke, at last, in a half-quiet tone, fearlessly walking into the cave's opening with no shortage of casual disinterest for the treasure they were tasked with finding. Compared to Renitra and her ostentatious weaponry, Clyde was every bit a civilian in terms of appearance alone, and visibly without a means to defend himself if the worst case scenario came to pass.
But that other girl in Provo, Yuna, said it herself once: appearances can be deceiving.
And 'unarmed' isn't always synonymous with 'defenseless'.
For someone who didn't like to make assumptions about other people, the young woman certainly had no trouble spontaneously picking him out of the crowd at random to ask if he had an interest in magic, let alone the sort that can mend wounds and cleanse afflictions. But for someone as aloof and detached as Clyde in the moment, he remained perceptive where it mattered, and even he could spot the noticeable dark rings sitting beneath her eyes, a symptom of prolonged sleep deprivation. And though she made the choice to bury the issue and move on, her strained veneer of gratitude did nothing to obfuscate the disappointment she clearly felt.
He didn't bother to answer her other question. That should have gone without saying.
Well. It should have, anyway.
Prompted by no one, and nothing, the young woman identifies herself as Yuna. If she expected him to do the same, Clyde was prepared to disappoint her again, since he was under no obligation to do so, but mostly because he didn't want to, even as a social courtesy, and while she had gingerly tried to acknowledge his obvious lack of enthusiasm over having his time frivolously wasted, Yuna elaborates on her role and overarching intentions for being in Provo. She had come from Torensten, a city-state south of this one that Clyde had yet to visit, as an envoy of a mercenary guild.
The Dragonblades. Another name frequently mentioned on the streets, although he'd first heard it spoken by a tavern patron between tankards of ale as they slurred proudly of their long-standing policy for so-called honorable conduct, how they never accept a job that would tarnish or sully their reputation for protecting the innocent and fostering peaceful relations. On the surface, Clyde perceived no faults in the guild's code of ethics; a sellsword can accept or decline any contract they wish, on whatever grounds they want to establish.
It just seemed a touch dogmatic, is all.
And, truthfully speaking, a lot of good can be accomplished through unscrupulous means.
According to Yuna, though, these Dragonblades had plans to stretch their influence up north and into Provo, which justified the foundation of a healing clinic. She invited Clyde to pay the facility a visit the next time he needed healing, handing out one of the brochures with a weary smile. Open for emergencies, even. How progressive.
“Mm.” Gloved fingers carefully take the folded pamphlet from Yuna's so that they could flip between sides while Clyde's half-lidded gaze scrutinously, silently, poured over the written contents, but finding nothing that hadn't already been explained so far.
Except the clinic's name itself.
The subtle twitch of his eyes as they study the words on the pages illustrate Clyde's growing awareness of this fact. An address to find the building could be seen, though, which led him to better comprehend her present situation as one built on desperate conditions. “Sure,” Clyde said, tersely, “I'll think about it.” Perhaps, assuming it wasn't going to take an entire pilgrimage to get there. He already lived far enough outside of Provo as it stood.
Riding the gondola to the docks of Provo's outermost district proved uneventful, for the most part. Rather than pass time with the oarsman by making small talk, Clyde used the silence between them to formulate a list of supplies he would need to purchase before returning home for the day. Sifting through the contents of his busy mind allowed him to remember that a number of his tools were on the verge of going dull from overuse, and because sharp tools are the safest tools, he made it a point to buy a new whetstone or two for the sake of thwarting future accidents. Further contemplation gives Clyde enough incentive to pick up some more rope, as well as a few hunting traps to fend off the vermin trying to scavenge his garden for food. Winter was coming, and these could prove useful as the weather gets colder.
Clyde waits for the gondola to be moored securely against the docks before departing the vessel without a word, simply offering the oarsman a small cluster of gil coins as payment for services rendered. The transportation fee was largely token in nature, he had learned weeks ago, yet it served a crucial purpose nonetheless; the funds collected this way went towards sustaining the upkeep of Provo's canal systems, ensuring smooth operations citywide for all of the seafaring merchants and tradespeople while also offering pedestrians a mode of passage between the districts.
Only a cynical person, or someone used to ambulating their way from place to place, would have thought such a method of travel was too good to be true. How could a boat ride cost as much as a mere apple, yet manage to contribute to such a well-maintained network of clean waterways and fully functional sluice gates? No one throughout all of Provo knew of it, but Clyde was very much used to living as a drifter, and it made him every bit as cynical about the world as he is today. Even he had to be convinced the gondola system was a feature and not a government privilege that came with numerous strings attached.
Then again, Clyde had seen the Gestahlian Empire's handiwork for himself, how they openly neglected the welfare of their subjects, how they refused to meaningfully improve their lives while they conducted hideous Magitek experiments and hunted Espers with gleeful abandon. They had the audacity to incorporate trains and flying machines into their blueprints for military expansion, and still the Empire balked at the concept of allowing its citizens to use these vehicles for the purposes of municipal transportation, evidently satisfied with wringing taxes out of old-fashioned sea travel and the occasional toll gates at various Imperial checkpoints.
Between sacrificing an almost negligible amount of money or being legally robbed by hired goons, contributing to Provo's gondola service seemed a vast improvement.
Of course, old habits die stubbornly, and Clyde preferred to navigate most of Provo on foot, hence why he opted to disembark here. It allowed him to continue studying the city's layout, memorizing every street and back alley connected to them so that he can form the shortest paths to his destinations. Silent eyes absorb the details of each and every building, their idiosyncrasies, their nooks and crannies, as they scanned for information relevant to the items he wished to procure. Clyde found nothing useful where he stood, but a nearby signpost might be able to guide him in the proper direction.
One by one, Clyde looked at each of the wooden planks affixed to the oak pole, each carved with arrows and wordage denoting specific areas of Provo and the directions he needed to follow to arrive at these locations. Although he could do much of his shopping with traders around the city borders, Clyde could not get whetstones, rope, or traps unless he bought them from shops nearer the center. As he was still in the process of familiarizing himself with Provo's geography, he came to the rather unenthusiastic conclusion that he would have to venture his way to where the greatest number of people tended to congregate in situations like these.
He needed to visit Help Wanted Avenue.
-----
Since finding himself displaced to Zephon, Clyde had only visited this bustling commercial center a small number of times in his endeavors to acclimate and get a feel for his new surroundings. During these instances, it quickly dawned on him that nearly any kind of business could be found here if he simply looked hard enough. From skilled laborers and tradesmen to swords-for-hire and nearly everything in between, if there was work to be done in Provo, or anywhere else in the world for that matter, he could be guaranteed to find at least one establishment that specialized in it on Help Wanted Avenue.
Right now, he needed to find a general store, or perhaps a smithy, which he knew for certain could both be found at the marketplace. But odds are pretty high that he could end up finding one on this street, as well. If nothing else, a little quality comparison never hurts.
As touched upon earlier, old habits die stubbornly, but Clyde is also a man of innumerable secrets, and it has reflected itself involuntarily from time to time. In this instance, his current gait and posture is that of a man devoting conscious effort into going about his business unnoticed by anyone else, as if he is projecting into the world an unspoken wish to be completely ignored. Clyde's face hangs low to the ground entirely out of habit, obscured by only by his long hair; it is a vestigial remnant of a time where it was utterly critical to keep his appearance a secret from the world.
It would seem that such habits were of no help here in Provo, in Zephon, now that a young woman had abruptly called out to him from a nearby box booth, asking if he had any interest in healing magic. Like the buzzing of a gnat, Clyde almost wrote her entirely innocent question off as nothing more than a distraction to keep him from seeing to his responsibilities, until she mentioned its scarcity in Zephon and her endeavors to find people wanting to make a difference with their talents.
With the same spontaneity that she had demonstrated in trying to reach out for conversation, Clyde ceases all movement forward, stands still for a brief couple of seconds, then cranes his head backwards with a deep sigh, as if he were grappling with the thought of actually humoring her assertion. A small part of him was admittedly curious to know if healing magic was as rare as she claimed it to be, and if this extended to all kinds of magic in general. A part of him simply didn't care; killing a god of magic makes a person ambivalent to its existence and practice all the same.
Clyde shook his head, then took it upon himself to at least pay proper consideration to the person who can't even be bothered to—
Oh.
He was looking at someone no older than nineteen or twenty, cropped brown hair, and both eyes colored differently from one another. An exotic floral dress that seemed closer to something a temple priestess might wear. Pamphlets outlining a healing clinic operating in Provo sat atop the box booth's surface, organized neatly yet given utterly no attention by anyone that passed by. Based on what he could tell at a glance, she had resolved to go about recruiting others with the ability to cast healing magic with nothing short of plucky determination and virtually nothing else aside from some brochures. Was this entirely her decision, or was this all she had been given to work with?
Clyde may have been from another world, but this girl was entirely out of her element.
He shifts his attention away from her to the booth, to his own clothes, then back to her. The disconnect seemed pretty clear in his own mind. “Your scouting talents could use some improvement,” Clyde said, wryly. But it was also possible that her commentary was sincere, and that healing magic was virtually considered a novelty in Zephon. But maybe his response came off a little harsh... “Sorry. I'm not a mage.”
The crow of a black rooster signals the approaching dawn. A screen of cold dew rests upon the grass, glittering under the morning rays as they paint the Provo countryside in a blanket of the warmest colors. A lake teems with the buzzing of countless insects as juvenile fish leap from the waters to feast in blissful ignorance. Sitting a distance away from it was a cabin of modest size, profiled by a garden full of crops on the verge of harvest and a cluster of large evergreens that stayed lush and verdant, even as the rest of the world around them changed colors and shed leaves in time with the seasons. Positioned mere paces away from the home was a circular stone well for gathering fresh water, accompanied by a wooden bucket tied to a length of rope. The pungent stench of vegetable compost emanates close by.
Like every day before this one, it begins with the feeling that something irreplaceable is missing.
Clyde hated getting out of bed, but could only resign to its necessity as he used the waxing strength in his body to gradually sit himself upright, eyelids heavy from the weight of his deep slumber. Tossing and turning against the pillow had turned his hair into a tangled mess and would need brushing to straighten out again. As consciousness returned to him, a spark of clarity glimmered behind his eyes, until they soon waned empty and hesitant upon recognizing the morning light pouring through the open window. He draws in a breath of dusty air, and a quiet sigh leaves his mouth.
The faint sound of a ticking pocket watch eventually reaches Clyde's ears. As if purely by reflex, his hand gently reaches over to the nightstand by his bedside, grabbing the silver timepiece so that his gaze could rest over it, studying every detail as he slowly turned the object around and around with his thumbs and fingertips. An urge to open the lid crossed his mind, to look at the contents resting inside the watch, but he chooses not to. Simply knowing he still has it is enough to keep him from wanting more than it can provide him in the present moment.
It is both a poignant symbol, and fitting reminder, to never dwell too long on the past.
Putting the watch back down, Clyde rolls his head around, and sighs again.
Right. Today's market day.
------
The morning bath cleanses Clyde of yesterday's dirt and fatigue, and the addition of soaps and herbal compounds returns moisture and softness to his beard and hair. The location of his dwelling in proximity to the lake offered a certain level of isolation from the rest of Provo as to afford him the privilege of refuge in audacity, since no one visited him this early in the morning without good reason to, and he never received visitors anyway. But it was illegal to go shopping in the nude, much less entertain guests that way, so it goes without saying that Clyde promptly took the initiative to return back inside the safety and privacy of his house after completing his bath to dress himself accordingly.
Nothing in Clyde's wardrobe, or throughout the the small patch of land he considered his property, appeared to suggest he had much wealth of any sort, and that he may have even lived intentionally below his means. But a blend of simple textile shirts and soft leather trousers can offer more of a sense of comfort than even the sturdiest armors or tallest shields could—more than he was used to, anyway—and also carried the benefit of being easy to clean and mend. It really depends on the fabric, honestly; some stains are just tougher to remove than others.
A plain brown tunic, leather trousers, and sturdy boots would be sufficient for a day of shopping. Clyde would then drape an olive green cloak over his shoulders for added protection from the autumn chill, fastening it together with a metal brooch. As an extra precaution, he made the choice to wear a pair of full-fingered leather gloves, just in case he came across something that would require protection while handling. You never know.
Once he felt adequately dressed for the activities ahead, Clyde moved to leave his domain, but stops just inches from touching the doorknob.
Don't forget your wallet.
Clyde exhales. It takes him less than a couple of seconds to scan the interior of the house for his coin satchel, a couple more to close distance with it, and several more to fasten to to his body before another thought crossed his mind. Should he take one?
No. It was market day. There's no need for that.
Feeling as ready as he could muster, Clyde took one last breath of cabin air before stepping outside to greet his new home.
------
The people call it Zephon, this place, this world. In the small handful of weeks he had been here since he first came to discover he had not been crushed beneath the rubble of Kefka's tower, Clyde had received nothing short of a crash course in the ways of Provo's culture and customs. It was a city of trade and mercantile, a haven for importers and exporters alike, that served as a nexus of commerce for many other major points of civilization throughout. People came here to do business, plain and simple. Treat the ethics of supply and demand with respect, and you will be rewarded for your efforts.
Easy enough. It gave Clyde the money he needed to afford a camping kit for surviving out in the wilderness until he could upgrade to renting rooms at the various inns around Provo. Hunting beasts for pelts had always been a lucrative line of work, especially if your wrist was steady enough to avoid damaging the goods. Sooner or later, Clyde took an interest in gardening, at first for practical reasons, but later it became a source of therapeutic expression, a way to be productive with his time while getting something out of it in the long term. And that would have been plenty for him, if he had to be fairly honest here.
But he kills one giant snake, mainly as an act of pure happenstance, and suddenly, the deed to a small plot of land and a tiny little cabin is thrust into his hands as a token of the Agriculture and Livestock Committee's gratitude.
Well. Okay. Beats homelessness.
Acclimating to Provo had been just as effortless, if not more so, namely due to the fact that most of the residents were keen to appreciate Clyde's lack of reservations about the sort of work he was willing to accept for money. Since no one knew who he was, given his tendency toward solitude, it was hard to form an accurate social profile of Clyde beyond a shared assumption that he seemed rather lonely for a man who spends most of his time alone. Maybe he has a lot on his mind; it was often the go-to excuse for whenever Clyde found himself prone to daydreaming in places where he ought to be paying more attention.
Maybe he just hated mornings.
No one knew for certain. Clyde hardly talked, unless he needed to. Today would be no exception.
If he felt like it, he might have a drink later.
Until then, Clyde was content on being a face in the crowd. Just another nobody.
[attr="class","ion-heart"] Some people choose to kill their emotions.
Throughout the course of his life, Clyde Arrowny has worn many masks. He'd been an orphaned child, raised and trained to be the perfect weapon for any job. A living legend among criminals and low-lives with a reputation as enormous as his skill for violence and bloodshed. A world-class criminal himself, perpetrator of the single greatest act of armed train robbery in recorded history. A fugitive of the law. A coward. A loving husband to the perfect woman. A newly wed man, soon to become a father. A dead man walking, haunted by the demons of his past. The world's best assassin. Killer of the God of Magic. Someone willing to do any job for the right price. Someone willing to pay any price to preserve the memories of a time undeserved. A ghost, a faceless wraith, a creeping shape in the darkness.[break][break]
These days, he just goes by Shadow.[break][break]
Choosing to embrace death as Kefka's tower collapsed on top of him, he suddenly wakes up in a world he immediately knows is not his own, without any connection to the one he calls home. Denied reunion with his beloved Helen in the afterlife, a choice presents itself to Clyde: continue doing what he does best to survive, or take the road less traveled and try to bury all traces of his blood-stained legacy. Though his confidence on the idea is justly warranted, it is not without a shade of irony, for even a man with his reputation is certain that no one throughout this world called Zephon could possibly know who either Shadow, or Clyde Arrowny, is.
ASSOCIATES OH, NO, I CAN'T SLOW DOWN, I CAN'T HOLD BACK
Fastidious and highly selective over the company he allows himself to keep, Shadow has only ever trusted two individuals to play the role of his partner. The first one is either dead or missing, and the other is Interceptor, who he sent away with Relm and the other Returners to lead out the remainder of his days in peace and comfort. If by some manner of astronomical fortune he was to encounter any of his former allies, Shadow may be more inclined to lend assistance to them as opposed to any other interested party, if only out of a sense of debt to the people who gave him a reason to continue living for more than money's sake.[break][break]
Even then, however, Shadow's line of work prohibits him from becoming emotionally invested with anyone, because there may come a day when he will be hired to kill someone he has grown close to. This also leads him to be paranoiac over who he trusts to support or fund his illicit activities, since he only does business through the most discerning and secretive black market vendors.
OPPOSITION OH, YOU KNOW, I WISH I COULD
People are prone to holding grudges. Being who he is and given what he does, it should come as no surprise to anyone that there are some who would want him dead, maimed, tortured, or even all of these things, in no particular order, whether they know him as Clyde Arrowny or as Shadow. A not-so-inconsiderable portion of the animosity he attracts is merely the consequences of his profession, and his conscious endeavor to drain himself of any emotional attachment to the people he is hired to kill only makes the burden so much worse to bear. To call Shadow a scoundrel would be apropos, but there have been moments where glimpses of his former self, lingering remnants of the man he used to be, peek through the surface of who he is today, and no one can be certain which of these two faces is the worse one.[break][break]
His ability to leave mountains of corpses in his wake has not diminished, but Clyde has since made the conscious decision to be different than who he was, and does his best to restrain the ever-present impulse to kill whenever it should try to rear its ugly head. Of course, that's easier said than done, when you haven't been trained especially for this exact purpose, and when all you have is a hammer...[break][break]
But Clyde will try. He'll keep his head low, he'll tend his vegetables, he'll go to the pub, he'll even pay his taxes without a fuss. Just don't try to hurt the people he has allowed himself to feel fondness for.[break][break]
And never try to make him angry. You won't like him when he's angry. And when all you have is a hammer...
PORTFOLIOS OH, NO, THERE AIN'T NO REST FOR THE WICKED
Compiled here is a list of previous contracts that Shadow has completed, or people of interest he has gathered intelligent on over the course of his lengthy career.[break][break]
COMBAT DOSSIER UNTIL WE CLOSE OUR EYES FOR GOOD
EQUIPMENT[break] (Ninja Sword 1) Oborozuki: Shadow's primary weapon of choice, acquired as a prize in the Dragon's Neck Coliseum after fighting a Tonberry. The finest shinobi sword ever produced, its blade shimmers bright silver like the spring moon.[break] (Ninja Sword 2) Ichigeki: Shadow's secondary weapon, found by Interceptor between the rotted bones of the Behemoth King and later given to him at the Dragon's Neck Coliseum after he vowed to join the Returners in their mission to defeat Kefka. A storied ninja sword used by a famous assassin said to have demonstrated mystical abilities. It may instantly dispatch targets in a single hit.[break] (Dagger 1) Assassin's Dagger: Shadow's alternative primary weapon. A long knife coated in a marriage of soporific neurotoxins, once favored by an ancient order of assassins that has long since passed into legend, although some insist they were never real to begin with. It may instantly dispatch targets in a single hit.[break] (Dagger 2) Man-Eater: Shadow's alternative secondary weapon. A wickedly sharp curved dagger suited almost exclusively for the act of cutting human flesh. Especially effective against humanoid targets.[break][break]
(Helm) Black Cowl: A solid black hood from a distant land. Sewn into the cowl is a mask for obscuring the wearer's face, which all but completely prevents their eyes from being seen, as well, adding a characteristic menace to their expressions.[break] (Armor) Black Garb: Solid black cloth armor from a distant land, said to be made with a special fabric that eases facilitation of camouflage techniques. That's what the rumors suggest, anyway.[break][break]
(Relic 1) Genji Glove: A one-of-a-kind armored glove from a faraway foreign land; it is clearly valuable to those who have gone the lengths to find and acquire it. Permits the use of a weapon in each hand.[break] (Relic 2) Prayer Beads: Beads used in meditation exercises by warriors of a faraway foreign land. Increases the wearer's evasion against physical attacks.[break] (Relic 3) Memento Ring: A sentimental ring, blessed by the devotion and love of a departed wife and mother. Prevents petrification, zombie, and instant death.[break][break]
THROWING ITEMS[break] Shuriken: Thin blades of sharpened metal small enough to be concealed, specifically engineered for throwing at targets from a distance. Despite their low attack power, their size and affordability justifies having a very large stock on hand during most missions, and are excellent tools for long range sniping, interrupting attacks, and creating diversions.[break] Fuma Shuriken: Enormous throwing blades for attacking targets at a distance, said to be the masterwork of a ferocious wind demon who could summon hurricanes. Presentation has made way for creative breakthroughs in their ability to be concealed via sophisticated folding mechanisms, but their large size disallows the option to carry large numbers of these tools in spite of their evident superior limb-cutting power.[break] Pinwheel: Beautifully folded origami paper stars affixed to thin needles for attacking opponents at long distance. Delicately balanced and precisely crafted, they are as much of a work of art as they are an implement for killing, eliminating victims with surgical precision and lethal accuracy. As a great deal of time and care is required to make them, these are also carried in limited supplies, but their ability to moonlight as an innocuous novelty decoration, an ornamentation for certain temples, or even a child's toy, affords Shadow many ways to psychologically torment his targets with these simple creations before they inevitably serve the purpose they were actually made for.[break][break]
Flame Scroll: A secret manual of forbidden fire techniques, penned with magic ink. Throwing the scroll breaks its seals and unfurls it, conjuring sweeping flames from the parchment. Inflicts large amounts of fire-elemental magic damage to all enemies when thrown.[break] Water Scroll: A secret manual of ancient water techniques, penned with magic ink. Throwing the scroll breaks its seals and unfurls it, producing torrential waves from the parchment. Inflicts large amounts of water-elemental magic damage to all enemies when thrown.[break] Lightning Scroll: A secret manual of esoteric lightning techniques, penned with magic ink. Throwing the scroll breaks its seals and unfurls it, summoning destructive lightning from the parchment. Inflicts large amounts of lightning-elemental magic damage to all enemies when thrown.[break] Invisibility Scroll: A secret manual of concealment techniques, penned with magic ink. Breaking the seals on the scroll and unfurling it causes a gust of leaves to swirl as all visible light bends and reflects around the user's body, rendering them imperceptible to the naked eye. Grants Shadow the Invisibility buff, which causes all physical attacks, even those that cannot be blocked normally, to automatically miss him, but will still allow him to be harmed by magic, which also removes the buff's effects.[break] Shadow Scroll: A secret manual of illusion techniques, penned with magic ink. Breaking the seals on the scroll and unfurling it douses enemies in a short-acting hallucinogenic mist before the user appears to mysteriously break apart into numerous flickering duplicates of themselves. Grants Shadow the Image buff, which causes all physical attacks that can be blocked normally to automatically miss him, with a 25% chance of prematurely ending the buff's effects with every attack he successfully avoids this way.[break][break]
CONSUMABLES[break] Smoke Bomb: A small spherical capsule, filled with a cutting-edge powder compound which creates a thick blinding smokescreen when exposed to oxygen, blanketing a large area of space and briefly obscuring vision. Offers instant and immediate escape from a battle.[break][break]
HEALING MAGIC[break] Cure: A weak healing spell for mending superficial injuries, like bruises, cuts, and scrapes. A single target recovers a small amount of health. Also inflicts minor amounts of damage to undead enemies.[break] Cura: An intermediate healing spell for repairing wounds of much greater scale, like fractures, lacerations, and deep tissue abrasions. A single target recovers a moderate amount of health. Also inflicts moderate amounts of damage to undead enemies.[break] Curaga: An advanced healing spell for fixing significant amounts of physical trauma, including broken or shattered bones, ruptured organs, and damaged nerve tissue. A single target recovers a large amount of health. Also inflicts large amounts of damage to undead enemies.[break] Esuna: A restorative healing spell for purging invasive or harmful afflictions from the body. Eliminates most negative status effects from a target, with the exception of Frozen, Imp, and Zombie.[break] Regen: A curative spell for supplementing bodily vitality. Permit the gradual restoration of a target's health over a set period of time. Against undead targets, this spell will instead gradually sap away what little organic constitution they have left. [break][break]
ATTACK MAGIC[break] Banish: A spell that folds the fabric of space inward to completely erase opponents from the boundaries of existence. Warps a target to another dimension, permanently removing them from battle. Also works against the undead. Against player controlled characters, this spell will either carry a risk of failure, or simply deposit them to a different location at the full discretion of that character's player. If an opponent should have access to a final attack of some nature, i.e. a move or ability meant to be used on the verge of death, casting this spell will momentarily delay its activation or use. [break][break]
EFFECT MAGIC[break] Stop: A spell that enables temporal manipulation. Halts the flow of time around a single target, afflicting the Stop ailment and preventing them from moving or taking any actions. The effect is not permanent, and can be reasonably expected to wear off in as little as fifteen minutes, or as long as several hours at the very most.[break] Teleport: A spell that permits the instantaneous transfer of matter between two separate locations. Offers immediate and effortless escape from dungeons and battles. [break][break]
COMMAND ABILITY: THROW[break] Shadow can throw a variety of weapons and items at a target to inflict heavy physical damage, potentially more than he could with a standard melee attack. Whatever Shadow throws this way ignores the target's Defense and cannot be blocked except by the most skilled opponents (read: other player controlled characters). Throwing objects with a latent status effect or elemental property will enable Shadow to draw out these characteristics and express them as part of the attack itself; e.g., throwing a Mage Masher could potentially inflict Silence if it strikes the foe. While there are many types of weapons that are specially designed for throwing, Shadow has access to an even more unique arsenal of tools—these being an assorted variety of shurikens and magic scrolls—that afford him significant flexibility and lethality during missions. Under most circumstances, weapons and items thrown with this ability are exhausted or consumed in some respect, which removes it from the thrower's inventory in the process.[break][break]
UNIQUE PROPERTY: INTERCEPTOR[break] Shadow is vigilantly protected at all times by Interceptor, a male Pinscher hound who serves as the assassin's trusted companion, watchful guardian, and attack dog. With the sole exception being that of Relm Arrowny, and the other Returners to a lesser extent, Interceptor is only friendly with Shadow, and expresses nothing short of rabid contempt for everyone else. He has purposely taken to claiming the dog eats strangers, as a joke.[break][break]
Whenever his master is attacked by a physical blow that could be evaded or dodged, Interceptor may find an opportunity to rush in and completely block the incoming attack, preventing Shadow from taking any damage in the process. Following this, there is an additional chance that he will counterattack Shadow's enemy with a technique of his own, both of which inflict non-elemental magic damage. These are Wild Fang, a brutal biting attack done with Interceptor's powerful teeth and jaws, and Takedown, a suppressive maneuver that either aims to incapacitate his target or neutralize it outright.[break][break]
DESPERATION ATTACK: SHADOW FANG[break] Usable only when Shadow is critically wounded or at Death's door, he calls Interceptor to his side so that they can both subsequently assault a single target with a masterful combination of lethal ripping strikes, dealing non-elemental magic damage and inflicting the Sap status, which causes additional health loss at gradual intervals until the ailment is properly removed.
[attr="class","swedevbot"] APPROXIMATELY 35~40[attr="class","ion-heart"] AROACE[attr="class","ion-heart"] MERCENARY[attr="class","ion-heart"] FFVI
FULL NAME:: Clyde Arrowny ALIASES:: Shadow GENDER:: Male AGE:: Unknown, estimated between 35~40 years old. ORIENTATION:: No longer feels attraction for anyone. GAME OF ORIGIN:: World of Balance, Final Fantasy VI ALIGNMENT:: Neutral, but a well-paying job could sway this metric very easily. EQUIPMENT:: Shadow’s primary weapon is the Oborozuki (朧月, lit. “Blurry Moon”), the finest ninja blade ever constructed by human hands, and the last thing his enemies ever see before drawing their terminal breath. Should he need to assassinate his targets with haste, he supplements Oborozuki with the Ichigeki (一撃, lit. “One Strike”), an equally prolific shinobi sword whispered in closed circles as being capable of delivering victims to a fatal end with just the smallest cut.
If he is unable to carry these particular swords with him for any reason, Shadow also possesses a pair of alternative reserve weapons that are even easier to hide from prying eyes. His first choice is the Assassin’s Dagger, an elegantly curved long knife perpetually coated in a fatal soporific neurotoxin that enables him to quickly take a life with a single, well-placed blow. Backing this blade up is the Man-Eater, a decidedly wicked looking dagger with a razor sharp edge that offers Shadow significantly increased killing power against humanoid targets.
He can be easily identified by his costume of choice, consisting of a Black Cowl and Black Garb set that offers Shadow a distinctively dark and menacing flair in addition to modest protection from smaller weapons. To maintain his evasive advantage over others, will typically eschew the use of shields.
Among the various relics he and the Returners have discovered on the course of their adventures, Shadow has taken to wearing the Genji Glove as his primary accessory of preference, as it enables him to simultaneously equip and wield two compatible weapons at once. If he is in need of additional celerity and speed for combat, he wears a string of enchanted Prayer Beads which offer him a significant bonus to his evasive abilities against melee attacks. Anywhere else, he instead wears a Memento Ring as a lasting reminder of his late wife’s love for him, which imparts a passive protection against instant death attacks, as well as the petrification and zombie ailments.
As one would expect from an assassin, Shadow is known to carry a modest stock of different shurikens, several scrolls, and a small cluster of smoke bombs on his person at all times. Obviously, his inventory is not limitless in this regard, since these tools are consumed on use, and he must pay out of pocket to replenish his supplies.
MAGICITE:: Following an arduous battle against the vile Chadarnook alongside the Returners and his daughter Relm at Owzer’s Mansion, Shadow found a piece of magicite on a nearby bookshelf containing the Esper, Lakshmi, and secretly kept the jewel once it was surrendered in the hopes that it would one day help him cope with the loss of his late wife. Her ability to be called forth as an Esper has long since faded away, but remnants of Lakshmi’s benevolent grace still dwells inside this stone, immortalizing the memory of the only woman to ever see him as anything but a heartless killer.
HEIGHT:: 5'10" HAIR/EYES/SKIN:: Brown/Grey/Pale. With the sole exception being his eyes, which assume a red tinge the moment he dons his cowl for reasons still not fully understood, Shadow’s raiments practically obfuscate his true appearance from others. This is how he appears beneath the costume, and is effectively unrecognizable to both strangers and anyone who might know him as Shadow.
DISTINGUISHING MARKS:: No matter where he goes, Shadow is closely followed by the eerie sensation that he has been brushed by the chill wind of death. Those who know of him consider his presence to be an omen of impending violence, and those who don’t know him are likely to hesitate on the idea of approaching him for anything unless he is specifically on good terms with that individual. Possesses a small silver pocket watch containing a portrait of his late wife and daughter, Relm, shown within as an infant. He is technically not a ninja, and is very insistent about this detail.
II. PERSONA
Greatly regarded and deeply feared in equal measure by allies and enemies alike, the figure known only to others as “Shadow” is preceded by his own reputation as a cold-blooded assassin willing to kill anybody—even his own best friend—as long as the pay is worthwhile. He leads a solitary life as a professional mercenary, selling his services to anyone who knows how to find him and has the money to afford his particular set of skills, which he has acquired over a very long career, that make him a nightmare for whoever is unlucky enough to become his target. From infiltration and espionage to wetwork and sabotage, he is a man of efficiency, focus, commitment, and sheer will; once Shadow has accepted a contract, he will seek to fulfill it by any means necessary, using everything at his disposal, whatever it takes. He can easily summarize his entire operation with two, very simple rules: always pay the full amount upfront, and never ask any questions.
Shadow expresses himself as a stoic loner who willfully keeps his distance from people, not because he dislikes the company of others, but to minimize the risk of developing sentiments or attachments, as these are a burden in his line of work and are liable to cause unwanted collateral damage if he allows them to take root. Though his affiliations may change as the seasons do, Shadow is motivated entirely by self-interest, swears allegiance or loyalty to no person or country, and generally thinks and acts as he pleases with very little concern for public opinion or the greater social order. His lack of discrepancy with who he accepts payment from, which invariably leads him to be hired by people with unsavory or questionable motives, has caused many to paint Shadow as a remorseless blackguard and scoundrel who would even cut his own mother’s throat for a single gil without a second thought.
But even a ruthless killer such as himself abides by certain professional standards, suggesting the existence of a moral compass or code of ethics only Shadow claims to understand. As a hired hitman, his obedience only runs as deep as his employer’s wallets do; should the circumstances result in the loss of his income, Shadow will consider all services rendered and leave at his discretion. If his employer thinks to become abusive or threatens to withhold payment, he will leave. If he doesn’t want to spend precious energy tolerating your presence, he’ll leave. If he thinks you are a liability to the success of his mission, he’ll leave.
Past events have also motivated Shadow to hold a small handful of select individuals with especially high regards, and he has made the resolution to abstain from inflicting harm, physical or psychological, against these particular people as long as he draws breath. He considers this decision both a professional courtesy for the group who showed him grace when he deserved none, and a way to honor the memories of a family he can never hope to be part of again.
Being an assassin, a person charged with the task of ending human life, Shadow will never permit anyone who is chosen as his victim to suffer the indignity of a drawn-out death; when the order to kill has been given, he will do everything in his power to ensure that his target is dispatched quickly, precisely, and effectively. There’s no guarantee that his methods are the cleanest, though, and he makes no excuses about whether or not his process is painless, either. But if he is required to chase after more persistent targets, he will actively stalk, pursue, and hunt them down as a predator does until either exhaustion sets in or panic causes them to make an error of judgment. Fear is entirely a natural response; it’s only normal they get to scream one last time before they accept eternal silence. No hunt is ever left unfinished.
Having taken the family pet, Interceptor, and trained him to be as cunning and merciless as himself, it could potentially be said that Shadow possesses an inherent affinity for animal handling and seems to have something of a personal fondness for hunting dogs in particular. This greatly suggests to only the most perceptive observers that Shadow is still fully capable of feeling the influence of his own emotions, can develop genuine connection with others, and has some awareness of his own sense of morality, although he will never admit this to anyone, even if it should further alienate him from those who would care about his well being or safety, because doing so would require him to confront certain truths about himself which he is not yet ready to face.
What lurks deep beneath the mask, below the surface of the killer who claims to no longer feel, is the tortured heart of a man burdened by the sins of his past, haunted by the ghost of a woman whose love he never deserved, shackled with the knowledge that his daughter can never be allowed to learn the truth behind her father’s disappearance, and cursed to wear the resentments of humanity as penance for his cowardice, shunned and loathed by all until the end of his days. Only the fragile, precious memories of friends, and family, are what allow the mercenary named Shadow to exist as he does on the fringes of society, trading his blood-stained soul to the highest bidder.
But can he kill his way to a life of peace? Is that even possible for someone such as himself? Does he even deserve such a thing?
The moon hangs high, and there is plenty of work that needs doing.
III. BACKGROUND
Shadow is an Assassin in both creed and profession, committed to the ultimate purpose of ending life in the most swift and efficient manner available to him. Rumored to be trained in six different martial arts, his technique in close quarters combat is both lightning fast and exquisitely violent; whether moving through an environment in total stealth or fully engaged in open combat with numerous enemies, Shadow darts and weaves between targets with all the alacrity of a silent panther bathed in darkness, cutting down opponents before they have an opportunity to react to his presence and leaving nothing but piles of bodies in his wake. He has an affinity for daggers and ninja blades of varying lengths, as they are lightweight, have exceptional handling, are easy to conceal from sight, and even easier to replace in the event he should lose them, for reasons that will be made apparent very shortly.
Within the criminal underworld, Shadow cultivated a reputation for elusivity and just as much notoriety for being almost impossible to track down, much less know if he even exists in the first place. The same is equally true in battle, as Shadow’s training in the secret arts and clever use of specific tools gives him incredible reflexes and evasive ability, allowing him to avoid injury as well as he can inflict it before slinking back to cover. He is the closest thing to a ghost in the flesh; no one will see him unless Shadow either wants them to, or if he manages to see them first.
His signature command ability is Throw, and, as the name virtually spells out here, it precisely allows Shadow to throw practically any variety of weapon he wishes to lethal effect, whether it is designed for the act of throwing or not, inflicting enormous amounts of physical damage in the process. Not only does it offer Shadow the ability to inflict ranged damage, weapons he throws in this fashion ignore the target’s Defense and cannot be blocked by anyone except the most skilled opponents (read: other player-controlled characters) as Shadow aims for any exposed weak spots with laserlike accuracy, injuring even the swiftest opponents far more effectively than if he were to use a normal melee attack instead. If a weapon has any latent elemental properties attached to it, a throwing attack Shadow makes with it will also share that element, as well.
Weapons and items that Shadow throws with this ability are consumed on use, even if it is a weapon that could normally be equipped for live combat, meaning if he wishes to carry multiple daggers on his person to prepare for the possibility that he might need to pick off enemies from a distance later, he will need to purchase several copies of the weapon he wants to carry in order to fulfill this criteria. This approach is also extremely costly and should be considered only when funds are flexible enough to justify such expenses. In addition to being able to use any weapon that has been specifically engineered for throwing, Shadow is also capable of using any dagger or ninja blade, as well as katanas, swords, spears, most types of rods, and even some gambling implements as throwing weapons.
The most practical and effective way of using this technique is to throw shurikens, which Shadow is careful to keep maintained and in constant supply wherever he goes. Small enough as to be imperceptible to the naked eye when thrown hard and fast enough, these hand-sized throwing blades come in three distinct shapes and levels of cutting intensity so as to afford Shadow the option to either maim or simply misdirect his opponents. The standard shuriken are roughly palm-sized and feature four points, perfect for targeting body parts and extremities with deadly precision. The much larger Fuma shuriken has four collapsible blades that are each as long as Shadow’s forearm and must be carried in smaller quantities on account of their significantly larger size, but indispensable for their unprecedented ability to sever limbs, rip through armor, and tear apart flesh as if it were merely paper. Lastly, there are the delicate Pinwheels, carefully folded origami constructs affixed to thin iron needles that spin gently in the breeze, which Shadow typically throws as either a calling card to herald his impending attack or as the weapon of choice for a decisive coup de grâce.
Another practical and effective use for Shadow’s throwing abilities lies in his special access to a series of scrolls that, when tossed, permit him to manifest a predetermined magical effect of some nature. Penned in secret by master calligraphers and imbued with sorcerous properties, these are far more taxing on Shadow’s wallet to acquire and are only used sparingly in critical moments, as he carries these in limited numbers. Three of these parchments—the Flame Scroll, Water Scroll, and Lightning Scroll—enable Shadow to inflict large amounts of their respective elemental damage type against all of his enemies within vicinity at roughly the same amount of power as a third-level spell. The Invisibility Scroll renders Shadow’s entire body completely intangible and transparent, granting the Invisible status, which lets him flawlessly evade all attacks with a physical component at the expense of maintaining vulnerability against magic, and the aptly named Shadow Scroll produces the illusory effect of splitting Shadow into multiple flickering copies of himself, imparting the Image effect, which also has the benefit of permitting near-perfect evasion of physical attacks, but each successful dodge he performs has a twenty-five percent chance of ending the scroll’s benefits prematurely, making it easier to attack Shadow again.
Like most people from his world, Shadow was not born with the talent to cast magic, nor was he infused with this ability by artificial means, and so his capacity for learning and using it could be considered mediocre at best. But as the Returners traveled the globe rescuing Espers from the clutches of the Gestahlian Empire, several pieces of magicite were gathered in the process, enabling the party to learn and use magic through the power of the Espers. Among the many crystals they found, Shadow only ever expressed interest in two of these gemstones—that of Lakshmi and Fenrir—and allowed his companions to use the rest as they saw fit, fully committing himself to extracting and mastering the spells contained within them via intensive training. Establishing a full bond with Fenrir has unlocked the use of the spells Stop, Teleport, and Banish, whereas forming a connection with Lakshmi provides Shadow the ability to use Cure, Cura, and Curaga, as well as Regen and Esuna.
His Desperation Attack is appropriately named Shadow Fang, and like other techniques of its ilk, it can only be performed when Shadow is critically wounded and on Death’s doorstep. In a phenomenal display of ferocity and teamwork, Shadow and Interceptor rip and tear at their target until it is done, dealing large amounts of non-elemental magical damage and afflicting the foe with Sap status, which periodically causes additional amounts of small damage over time until the ailment is removed.
A completely unique feature to Shadow’s character is his partnership with Interceptor, a male Pinscher hound that once served as the family puppy before he took and carefully trained him to be the perfect hunting companion and a killing machine in his own right. Unyieldingly loyal to Shadow, Interceptor accompanies him everywhere and is delightfully ferocious in battle, following every command with perfect obedience and brimming with an uncanny eagerness to please his master. Like his namesake suggests, his greatest strength is guarding Shadow from enemy attacks and retaliating with his own learned maneuvers; he can tear flesh apart and bite deep into bones with Wild Fang, or he can expertly subdue enemies with Takedown to give Shadow a window to finish them off himself. Interceptor trusts absolutely no one but Shadow, his daughter Relm, and, to a lesser extent, the Returners that served as his master’s companions; his tendency to bark, growl, and even bite at strangers has led Shadow to assert that he has an underlying willingness to eat them, as well, which serves as a useful deterrent to anyone who attempts to approach him with the sole purpose of wanting to pet the dog.
Currently, Shadow does not have Interceptor at his side, as he left him in the care of Relm Arrowny so that he could accept death beneath the collapsing weight of Kefka’s Tower. Though he did not achieve the end he so wished to meet by awaking in the world of Zephon, this may very well be a sign that he and Interceptor may one day meet again.
Which leads to his last, and most unpredictable asset: that of Shadow’s true identity as Relm’s father, Clyde Arrowny. Before he turned to a life of spilling blood for money, he was a vastly successful thief and train robber, and as such, has retained a minimal amount of practical knowledge over a handful of his old banditry skills, such as lockpicking, pickpocketing, escapology, and the use of disguises, even if he rarely uses these talents anymore, if at all.
His displacement to the world of Zephon has all but rendered his existence as the mercenary Shadow entirely redundant, thus providing Clyde with the justification to safely remove his cowl and garb so that he might try to lead out the rest of his days in obscurity and anonymity, content with fading away into the pages of history as little more than a rumor spoken of in hushed whispers.
No one will know who Clyde Arrowny is, just as no one will know who Shadow is.
IV. HISTORY
Some say that Shadow is nothing more than a scary story shared among thieves and thugs, a boogeyman that hunts its prey without pity or remorse.
This isn’t entirely accurate.
He is the one you send to kill the boogeyman.
Although his exploits are the subject of legends, the existence of the mercenary named Shadow is an impenetrable mystery, one that has been carefully crafted and sustained over many years as part of an otherwise lifelong endeavor to bury the secrets of his past. Before he resolved to walk the path of endless bloodshed and became an emotionless killer of men, he was known as Clyde Arrowny, a loving husband and father to a then-newborn daughter. Before this, he was one of the most notorious and prolific thieves and train robbers of his time, who would later completely vanish from the public eye after committing the largest and most daring heist in his world’s recorded history.
But how does a man go from illustrious thief to family man to ruthless killer in such a short stretch of time? Or is there more to the story than we have been allowed to know? If we are to understand the full tale, we must go back to the very beginning, to a point in time that no one but him remembers. A time that ought to be better left forgotten.
Orphaned at birth in the town of Zozo, very little is known about his childhood apart from the fact that he was adopted and recruited into the dark and bloody world of organized crime at a very young age. He was given the name “Clyde” by the person who served as his father figure, a grim and unforgiving man known only among the upper echelons of the criminal underworld as “the Maestro”, who had even deeper and more powerful connections above them. Commanded to embrace the primitive survival instinct in a moment of significant peril, Clyde learned to assert his existence to the world when he took his first life at five years old, an act that would permanently transfigure his psyche for the worse, but opened the way for advanced special training and, ultimately, better treatment than he had been receiving until that point.
Under the Maestro’s intensely strict supervision, Clyde was brutally conditioned to become their best asset, learning skills such as hand-to-hand combat, weapon throwing, lockpicking, stealth, infiltration, disguises, escapology, pickpocketing, and every known form of assassination a person can commit. Failure was never tolerated, and even the smallest mistakes were punished with extreme prejudice. But Clyde expressed an unprecedented degree of willpower and determination no other recruits his age had shown before, as if he were fully committed to becoming the ultimate weapon. Pitiless. Unrelenting. Perfect. His almost singular focus toward mastering the art of death and uncanny marksmanship would later inspire him to assume the surname of “Arrowny”.
At the age of twenty, Clyde left from under the Maestro’s wing to earn a name for himself among the numerous illegal operations and enterprises that flourished as a consequence of the Gestahlian Empire’s rampant military expansion. His reputation for peerless efficiency and reliability, along with his persistence and drive for completing assignments, earned him considerable respect and fear throughout the underbellies of society. By this point, he no longer had any reservations about taking a life, as long as it brought him one step closer to finishing the job. Yet Clyde was also young, impulsive, and prone to anger. Those who crossed him were stalked, hunted down, and murdered without warning. He was not a man to be provoked, under any circumstances. He took what he wanted, whenever he wanted, and cut down anyone who tried to stop him.
But even the seediest parts of the vast and complex labyrinth that is the criminal underworld operates on rules and consequences, and Clyde Arrowny would never be an exception to this. During this period of his life, Clyde has his first encounter with Baram, a small-time weapons dealer and petty street burglar who attempted to rob him at knife-point and wound up having his own weapon driven into his left eye by Clyde after a long and vicious struggle between the two during an unrelated stakeout in Kohlingen. Baram survived his injuries and would later approach Clyde in good faith; the pair of men became fast friends over cold drinks.
In spite of their strong bond of camaraderie and effortless synergy in fights both small and large, the relationship between both mercenaries proved to be a volatile one. Clyde had always disapproved of Baram’s impulsiveness and grandiose sense of self, but with every contract came the thrill of an even greater challenge, with every job came new enemies to destroy, and with every assignment came new bodies to add to the pile. Clyde was no different than Baram; they were just two different cuts of the same cloth.
Over the span of five years, their reputation and influence within the seedy underworld grew to such an extent that Baram, feeling sufficiently inspired by their shared list of accomplishments, unveiled to Clyde the plans of his ultimate heist: to infiltrate and abscond with the contents of an armored money train headed for the Imperial capital of Vector. At the time, Clyde had felt himself complete, at the pinnacle of his skill, and wealthy enough in his own right to settle down and retire for the rest of his life. But to walk away from a challenge so big, so complex, so difficult? It was an offer he simply couldn’t refuse. One final trial, one last test of his skills, before he could disappear and lead out his days in luxury and happiness.
So Clyde struck a deal with Baram: he would assist him in carrying out this plan, in exchange for the freedom to leave behind the criminal life and start anew once the task was finished.
The scheme had unfolded with careful precision and left behind a trail of decadent brutality in its wake. The amount of money they stole is said to have exceeded over one million gil in treasure and valuable, and the bodies they buried that day would forever lay the foundation for what became known as the Crime of the Century. His ego inflated, and drunk with fortune beyond his wildest dreams, Baram dubbed themselves the “Shadow Bandits” to commemorate history’s greatest act of modern piracy. Nevertheless, Baram would honor his promise to Clyde and give him permission to choose the future he wanted to follow, and the two amicably parted ways with each other.
Until one awful stormy night, when a gravely wounded Baram came frantically knocking at Clyde’s door in search of shelter from a regiment of Imperial soldiers hot on his trail. Forced to flee from his home to evade capture, Clyde escorted his injured comrade through the wilderness under the cover of night until they were spotted by Imperial scouts and furiously chased without pause. On the verge of actual escape from their pursuers, Baram received an injury which incapacitates him, preventing any further progress toward the freedom they sought. Terrified of what the Empire might do if they were to arrest him, Baram implores his partner in crime to run for safety, and then asks him to carry out an impossible task: he pleads for Clyde to end his life.
Paralyzed between the decision to either kill his only best friend or face summary execution alongside him, Clyde suffered a crisis of conscience and, consumed by his own cowardice, made the choice to leave Baram to an uncertain fate, never to be seen again. His inability to carry through with Baram’s final wishes became Clyde’s greatest regret in life, and subsequently impelled him to run from the long arm of justice at the age of twenty-five, traveling across the world from town to town until he found himself hiding out in the secret village of Thamasa, the rumored home of the ancient Magi’s living descendants.
There, Clyde meets Helen and her puppy, who he would later name Interceptor, for the first time.
Over the next four years, his life is completely transformed into something hopeful, something pleasant, worthy of being enjoyed. Her smile was always one of unfailing adoration and trust, able to cast away the brooding darkness of his heart whenever it should threaten to resurface. Her gentle voice could bring calm to Clyde during even moments of great frustration. Her touch could banish even the coldest anger, or the deepest sadness. The gift she had for magic, which she could not practice freely by decree of Thamasa’s mayor, only seemed to highlight her sense of duty and compassion for her family and community. Her dog seemed thrilled about their connection with one another, as well. Even without the vast fortunes he had plundered from his earlier life, Clyde truly believed he had been permitted a life of luxury and happiness all the same.
At twenty-nine years old, Clyde is offered Helen’s hand in everlasting marriage.
One year later, she would give birth to an infant girl. Together, they name her Relm.
That same year, Helen would suddenly fall victim to the consumptive effects of terminal illness, and quietly passed away with Clyde at her bedside. Her wedding ring would be all he inherits as a memento of her.
Her death sends Clyde into a deep depression from which he never fully recovered. Fearful that the demons of his past would find their way to Thamasa and reveal what kind of monster he was to his only child, Clyde began to suffer horrible nightmares of Baram and grew ever more reclusive and paranoid as time continued to pass. Unable to stomach the possibility of Relm being abducted by Imperial forces in the dead of night, Clyde pleaded to all the higher powers for a solution that would keep her safe from the Empire. That night, he relived the memory of abandoning Baram to his injuries one more time, and came to a decision that would shape the course of his destiny from that moment onward.
To save Relm from a fate worse than death, to preserve the memory of Helen, Clyde chose to leave Thamasa before his daughter came of speaking age, fully intent on never being seen again by the likes of her, or anyone that knew him. Interceptor tried to prevent him from leaving, at first, until Clyde insisted he go live out his days with Relm in peace. For better or worse, Interceptor had opted to tag along with him instead, and became his one and only traveling companion and personal guardian. Incapable of forgiving himself for leaving Baram to suffer at the Empire’s hands, Clyde vowed never to let another soul experience a pointless and undignified death again, promising to him that if he ever took another life, he would make sure to finish the job personally.
At the age of thirty, Clyde Arrowny quietly returned to the fold of organized crime under the alias “Shadow” as a way of honoring his adventures with Baram, and all further records of his existence are said to have vanished from the history books thereafter. As an outlet for his grief and rage, he became a mercenary for hire specializing in wetwork, accepting any contract that allowed him to spill as much blood as physically possible. He grew more efficient, more cunning, and far more ruthless than he had ever been in his life, and trained Interceptor to be equally as threatening and dangerous as himself. His talent for killing evolved beyond the limits of the ordinary, and his prices began to reflect his rising notoriety.
As Shadow, he spent several of these years offering his services to the highest bidders, cultivating a reputation for being utterly pitiless in the line of work and willing to kill anyone in exchange for the right price, whether or not they were aligned with the Empire or some other illegal enterprise. Everyone soon learned of the cold-blooded assassin without remorse for his victims, from Narshe to Vector and everywhere in between, but no one dared to approach him unless they either planned to pay for someone else’s death, or be chased away by Interceptor for trying. Even the lord and ruler of Figaro Castle, King Edgar, fully understood that Shadow was not the sort of person one could simply bother without expecting dire consequences.
His first encounter with the nascent faction of insurgents and rebels calling themselves the Returners came about when Shadow, having just finished a contract near the town of Doma, was approached by Sabin, a martial artist and the brother of Figaro Castle’s King Edgar, who requested his aid in reaching Narshe following a misadventure that caused him to be separated from the rest of his companions. As the only available path laid to the south past Doma Castle, which was currently occupied by Imperial forces in their efforts to besiege it, Shadow made the conscious decision to help navigate Sabin past the warlines, but only on the condition that he would leave any time he wished afterward.
Infiltrating the enemy base camp, Shadow and Sabin overhear a discussion between the Empire’s illustrious general, Leo Cristophe, and court mage, Kefka Palazzo, the latter of whom was especially notorious for dedicating himself to spreading untold suffering and cruelty with great panache. General Leo departs from the encampment after receiving a summons from the Emperor, leaving Kefka to oversee the operation and urging that he withhold himself from behaving inhumanely. Kefka gleefully ignores Leo’s request and orders his soldiers to poison the river surrounding Doma so that he could quickly wipe its inhabitants out. Unable to stand and watch Kefka’s atrocity unfold, Sabin leaps into action, and Shadow follows closely behind with Interceptor at his heels, but they are halted by Imperial forces before they are able to stop Kefka from dumping the poison and killing all of Doma’s residents. The camp is suddenly stormed by an enraged and grieving Cyan Garamonde, once the loyal retainer to the King of Doma, who had lost his wife and only child to Kefka’s evil scheme, giving Shadow and Cyan enough incentive to form a momentary alliance with him and, through the aid of three unmanned suits of Magitek armor, beat a hasty retreat to the south.
Hiding from the Imperials inside the mysterious Phantom Forest, Shadow and his cohorts by circumstance discover a stone platform deep within. Approaching the terminal triggers the appearance of the Phantom Train, but no sooner do they step foot aboard the cabin to investigate does it suddenly let loose a mighty whistle before the train lurches forward, determined to carry its unwitting passengers past the mortal coil and into the afterlife. The group fights their way through the restless souls of the damned in order to reach the engine, only to learn in horror that the Phantom Train itself exhibited sapience and sought to destroy them before they could stop the locomotive in its tracks. A long and arduous struggle against the mechanical menace would ultimately grant them the freedom to depart at the forest’s southernmost edge, where they witness the tormented spirits of the people killed at Doma, including those of Cyan’s wife and child, silently embark to the great beyond.
Making their way to the Baren Falls, Shadow reminds Sabin of his earlier arrangement and, having fulfilled his end of the bargain by leading him past Doma, resolves to leave his and Cyan’s company when they make the choice to leap from the waterfall’s apex in order to reach the untamed Veldt below.
Shadow would encounter the Returners much later as they journeyed westward to find an ally who had gone missing, having stopped at Kohlingen’s tavern in search of more work. Pointing out their lack of manpower, he provides them an opportunity to hire his services for a fee of three-thousand gil, which they reluctantly agree to out of sheer necessity. Acting the part of impromptu chaperones, Shadow and Interceptor followed the Returners from Kohlingen into the wilderness, through Jidoor, up until they reached the outskirts of Zozo. Concerned with being spotted by his former associates in crime and learning of their plans to head for the southern continent, Shadow silently parts ways with the Returners after they reunite with their compatriot, a girl named Terra, whose secret existence as a half-Esper, half-human hybrid had recently come to light.
Drifting from town to town, Shadow and Interceptor were later contacted and subsequently hired by the Empire to assist General Leo and two of the Returners, Terra and Locke Cole, who had been surreptitiously duped into entering a false alliance with their sworn enemies, in searching for Espers on Crescent Island. While en route by ship, he emerges from below deck to sleep under the stars, unintentionally overhearing a conversation between Leo and Terra about her ability to feel love, and whether or not she would ever experience this with another person. Terra briefly considers approaching Shadow, but he swiftly turns her away, saying that these were answers she needed to discover on her own. Before allowing her to return below deck, Shadow reminds Terra that there are people in the world who chose to kill their own emotions. The sounds of Locke’s repeated acts of emesis prevents Shadow from achieving restful sleep that night.
Upon arriving at Crescent Island, Shadow, Terra, and Locke manage to separate themselves from underneath the Empire’s hawkish gaze and find their way to the settlement of Thamasa, which deeply unsettles the assassin. Having learned the town’s secret years ago, he deliberately stayed quiet as the Returners interviewed several of Thamasa’s residents, including one Strago Magus, who sought to misdirect the party with feigned ignorance about the Espers until the conversation was interrupted by a curious ten-year-old girl, who wanted to know if these new visitors could use magic. Embarrassed by her vivaciousness, Strago introduces the child as his granddaughter: Relm Arrowny.
Although he would never express it, the revelation horrifies Shadow. His anxieties are all but confirmed after observing Interceptor, diabolically infamous for showing animosity toward everyone and anybody, developing an obvious attachment to the girl and cheerfully following her when Strago instructed her to go to her bedroom. When the Returners could make no more progress in their search for the Espers, Shadow calls Interceptor back to his side and makes for the town inn to collect himself, and even considers leaving Thamasa entirely, his active contract with the Empire be damned.
That night, the panicked shouting of a distressed Strago rouses Terra and Locke from their slumber for assistance helping Relm, who had gone to a neighbor’s house before it suddenly caught fire, and the latter calls out to Shadow before running off. Living up to his own image of ruthlessness, he would have likely carried through with this plan, were it not for the fact that Interceptor was nowhere to be found, which led him to conclude that he had run off to Relm, and very likely out of sincere affection for her. Realizing his own dog had better sense than him, Shadow condemned himself for entertaining the thought of allowing his daughter to painfully die in a house fire and slipped under the cover of darkness to assess the situation personally. Apparently, based on testimony from the mayor, the blaze had been caused by an unnecessarily excessive quantity of Flame Rods that were being kept in storage.
Strago attempts to conjure streams of water to douse the inferno, revealing to Terra and Locke that Thamasa’s inhabitants were actually capable of using magic, but it is not enough to stem the spread. Together, the three of them brave the roaring flames and rolling smoke to find Relm, being fiercely guarded by Interceptor. As everyone rallies around Relm, they are ambushed by creatures of living flame, and though they manage to stave off a majority of them, the hostile conditions of the surrounding structure deprive them of precious oxygen and they lose consciousness, leaving Interceptor to fend for the group alone. Arriving mere moments before the dog was on the verge of passing out himself, Shadow bursts onto the scene and drops a smoke bomb, facilitating everyone’s escape from the house as it finally collapses inward on itself.
As a gesture of gratitude for rescuing Relm, Strago offers the truth of Thamasa and its villagers to Terra and Locke, explaining themselves to be the descendants of the Magi, humans born with magic abilities who fought in a cataclysmic war that ravaged the world over one-thousand years ago. He would further go on in good faith to provide his aid in searching for the Espers they sought, suggesting they head west for a network of caves said to be sacred to their kind. Relm attempts to lend her hand, as well, but Strago rebukes her, to the girl’s annoyance, and to Shadow’s quiet relief. She didn’t need to be wrapped up with the problems of the Returners, or his own.
As they made their arrangements, Shadow prepared to depart without a single word to any of them, but Strago expresses thanks for saving Relm from the jaws of death before he could cross the threshold. Secretly terrified that the Empire would discover his link to Relm and use it to manipulate him against his wishes, Shadow coldly insists to Strago that he only cared about his dog, and that he would find the Espers on his own without their help. As he left, Interceptor briefly hesitated going with him, having thoroughly bonded with Relm at this point and wishing to be with her and his master both, but Shadow’s commanding call pulled him back to his senses and away from Thamasa, following closely at his heel.
For an unknown length of time, Shadow and Interceptor continued to accept payment from the Empire until they found themselves directly caught in the middle of the great seismic upheaval caused by Kefka Palazzo and the Emperor Gestahl’s invasion of the Esper World, triggered by their subsequent use of the Warring Triad to raise a massive fragment of land to the skies above the town of Albrook as the Floating Continent. As the Returners engaged the Imperial Air Force aboard the flying airship of the gambler Setzer Gabbiani, both Kefka and the Emperor revealed their true colors and, having deemed him no longer useful to their vision of world conquest, attempted to kill Shadow, and his little dog, too. The both of them barely escape their combined magical onslaught, fleeing to the outskirts of the hovering landmass with their lives intact and their anger sufficiently stoked.
They would be found by the Returners some time after their aerial skirmish, and are offered a place among their ranks on their path to the continent’s summit. Shadow initially agrees, having every intention of taking his revenge on Kefka and the Emperor with extreme prejudice. But as they approach the apex, the group is attacked by the Ultima Weapon: a relic from the War of the Magi and a living engine of destruction. The encounter pushes all of Shadow’s abilities as an assassin to their limit; the presence of Relm inspires the courage to show no mercy against the Ultima Weapon, for it stood as a threat to everything he still cherished. Through persistence and teamwork, Shadow and the rebel Returners succeed in putting the Ultima Weapon permanently out of commission.
But what was meant to be a momentous victory instead rang as a hollow triumph in Shadow’s heart, empty and bitter for all its merits. What little soul he had left to sell, he gave it to the Empire without a hint of remorse, and they ultimately stiffed him on the bill for his efforts. Was it worth handing them the entire world on a silver platter? Shadow refused to follow the Returners to the summit. He didn’t have the right to. Not after putting Relm in harm’s way again.
Of course, fate had other plans for him and Interceptor. The Returners confront the Emperor and Kefka, the former being who calls on the Warring Triad to restrain them with binding magic before offering the turncoat General Celes Chere a choice: join him and rule at his side, or die alongside her insurgent allies. Defiantly, foolishly, recklessly, she drives her blade into Kefka’s stomach; in doing so, she unleashes evil incarnate itself. Driven completely mad with blinding rage, Kefka commands the Warring Triad to give him its power and uses it to mortally wound Gestahl, who pleads in vain for him to consider reason before he is sadistically pushed over a cliff to a painful and bloody death, his final thoughts directed to a single glaring realization before all consciousness faded entirely: that he had met his end at the hands of a clown.
A tenuous and delicate balance is maintained between the triumvirate of statues that form the Warring Triad. With no one to stop his rampage, Kefka begins moving the Triad out of alignment, triggering a cataclysmic chain of events that disrupts the world’s natural order in its entirety and nearly throws Celes to her death in the process, until Shadow leaps in to catch her before she can fall. Against his better instincts, he throws himself at Kefka to keep him from moving the Triad any further, imploring the Returners to flee while he stalls for time, making a promise that he would find a means to escape the mad jester’s onslaught. The insurgent rebels fight and run their way to Setzer’s airship, and were nearly prepared to leave Shadow behind until he appeared at the very last possible second, stoically claiming he’d never be able to rest in peace without collecting his payment.
Though he is able to board the Blackjack along with the others, Shadow can do nothing but bear witness to the world’s destruction with his own two eyes. With the Warring Triad severely out of alignment and its magical power destabilized by Kefka, the airship is bombarded with a blast of arcane power, and both he and Interceptor are scattered to the furthest reaches of the globe, away from the Returners, and away from Relm.
A year passes by, and Kefka has since turned Vector into a tower of corpses, having siphoned the Warring Triad of all its power to become the God of Magic. The new world, born from the old world’s destruction, is one of pain and suffering. Plants and animals have been mutated by the fallout, and cities are left in constant devastation by the Light of Judgment, a beam of pure energy that Kefka uses to liberally kill and destroy anyone that opposes his reign of terror. Knowing nothing but death and fighting, Shadow traveled the crumbled world with Interceptor and became a frequent visitor of the Dragon’s Neck Coliseum, a sprawling gladiator’s arena erected by its owner as a monument to the endless war that now consumed the planet.
As the Returners slowly began to come back together to realize their goal of a world freed from Kefka’s rule, Shadow came to learn the existence of a weapon called the Ichigeki and was handed a lead as to where he could find it, being directed to a cave on the Veldt. In the process of exploring its depths in his search for the blade, he was brutally attacked and wounded by the Behemoth King, a creature of formidable power and savagery. Both he and Interceptor barely escape from the beast, but it is through an act of serendipity that his canine companion picks up the Returners’ scent at the cave’s entrance and bolts for their presence, imploring the party to follow him back to Shadow’s location.
In their endeavors to drag Shadow outside to safety, the Behemoth King assaults the party without warning. Boasting impressive strength and the ability to cast fearsome magic, it proves a most terrifying opponent throughout, but at last, the Returners are able to claim victory over the Behemoth King – until it suddenly rises once again, now enthralled by the chill touch of undeath and far stronger for it. The second encounter pushes the group to the limit of their abilities, and still, they seize their moment of triumph. As the party prepared to move Shadow to Thamasa so that he could recover, Interceptor spots the Ichigeki lying among the bones of their kill and hands it to Relm for safekeeping.
Once he had fully healed from his injuries, Shadow and Interceptor returned to the Dragon’s Neck Coliseum to keep their skills sharp and his wallet sufficiently funded. When the Returners arrive to participate in the battles themselves, they wager the Ichigeki as per the arena’s definitive house rule, and come to find none other than Shadow himself as their assigned opponent. While it can be reasoned that the group spent considerable time deliberating among themselves to select the one who would face Shadow in combat, any knowledge surrounding the identity of Shadow’s opponent remains a fiercely guarded secret, although he would also say that it doesn’t matter anymore, because he ended up losing that very duel.
Following this defeat, Shadow coldly resigned himself to a life of ceaseless fighting in the Coliseum, reminding the others it was all he had ever known, and thus, the only thing he knew how to do. At the urging of the Returners, however, he is offered a chance to do something more with himself than simply kill for money: Shadow could save the world from Kefka. To kill the God of Magic? It was to be the ultimate test of his skills. Shadow readily accepts their offer.
The Returners, at the peak of their numbers and strength, confront and infiltrate Kefka’s Tower from the skies. The objective was clear: destroy the Warring Triad, sever the source of Kefka’s power, and end his miserable life. But as the nexus of all magic, demolition of the three statues would invariably result in the death of magic altogether, and would spell total erasure for the race of Espers. What would become of Terra? Between the loss of all magic or the loss of all life itself, it was clear to everyone, even Shadow, that sacrifices had to be made. Splitting into three groups, Shadow and Interceptor, along with Relm and Strago, ascend Kefka’s wretched monument to nonexistence, killing everything that stood in their way. Their paths would lead them to the Triad itself, and their determination to live allows for the obliteration of all three statues.
Nothing changes. It is a moment of grim clarity for everyone: Kefka has already depleted the Triad of their powers, becoming the living locus of all magic. They arrive at the moment of no return, the final event horizon, prepared to change the course of history and the world forever. Three switches are all that stand between them and Kefka’s chambers, where he awaits them from atop his edifice of horrors, a testament to his utter disregard for everything worth living, and dying for.
Standing at the precipice of life and death by his daughter’s side, surrounded by those who showed him trust when he deserved none, Shadow and Interceptor are confronted by Kefka, not a God of Magic but a demon of insanity. He gloats over his acquisition of ultimate power, and demonstrates a taste of it by throwing him and his allies back with tremendous force. With twisted glee, he denigrates humanity for its inherent fragility, as what was built is easily destroyed, and that which lives must know it will die pointlessly and without meaning. He demands the ones who oppose him explain what they find so precious that it compels them to fight against certain death and damnation.
Love. A person worth protecting. The memories of a wife and child. Friends, and family. A peaceful kingdom. A sibling’s unconditional support. To be accepted without judgment. The inseparable bonds of a granddaughter and her grandfather. The legacy of an old friend. New friends. The friends standing by their side right now. Reasons far beyond the likes of anything Kefka could possibly understand.
Kefka decries his enemies as trite and uninspired, like the pages of a self-help manual, and vows to snuff out their reasons for fighting, their reasons for living. Unable to be reasoned with any longer, he unleashes the Light of Judgment upon the entire world to mock their efforts and further demoralize them. Unflinching, determined to save all that mattered, the Returners, along with Shadow and Interceptor, carefully and persistently dismantle Kefka’s living tower of madness and entropy, part by part, tier by tier, until they climb to the very heavens themselves where the cackling God of Magic awaits, declaring all life, dreams, hopes, to be meaningless and that he would destroy them all.
With all the power at his command, Kefka eagerly tries to kill his enemies with his hallmark brand of sadistic panache; his spells are as wild and tempestuous as himself, innovative, unstable, exceedingly deadly in every respect of the phrase, but without purpose or direction. He doesn’t care about who gets hurt, how they get hurt, or even if they get hurt at all. He simply doesn’t care. God or no, that makes a person sloppy. Ineffective. For all his supposed chaotic whimsy, Kefka was nothing short of predictable.
Teamwork, trust, and the will to survive overtake Kefka’s drive for destruction, grand as it was, and the false deity is rightfully killed for his hand in permanently altering the face of history and the planet. Vengeance was theirs at last. Justice was done, though the heavens fell.
Kefka’s death as the God of Magic invariably triggers the complete and gradual elimination of magic from the world in its entirety. His tower of rubble starts to collapse without his influence. All magicite is drained of their power, or shatters to dust. Spells no longer produce any sort of effect. Everything containing a trace of magic could no longer express it to any capacity. The race of Espers fade away, but leave Terra one last glimpse of hope, and the key to her freedom: while she may no longer be tied to her kin and lose all potential to use magic, she may yet still keep herself anchored to the world as a human if her feelings are strong enough.
As the party flees to escape the falling tower, Shadow abruptly stops following the Returners and heads off in a different direction, making for a small cavernous indentation within the rubble in spite of the worsening conditions. Distressed over his master’s change of behavior, Interceptor follows Shadow closely, but his master calmly orders him to heel, then issues a command he never considered before, until this very moment: Clyde pleaded for Interceptor to leave with the others, and enjoy the rest of his days surrounded by comfort and love; he deserved that much, at the very least. It takes Shadow another try for Interceptor to finally obey his request.
In the seconds that were meant to serve as Shadow’s last moments, he called out to his old friend and partner Baram, asking if he would come find him once he had passed on. As Kefka’s Tower crumbled and broke apart, he would pray for Relm to live a happy life with Strago and her friends. And once he felt the ground beneath him give way to send him plummeting down to meet the fate he deserved, he would deign to mark the story of Shadow as complete, having traded his life for a cause greater than money.
Clyde Arrowny lingers his final thoughts on Helen before accepting death.
Perhaps, in a sense, that is exactly what happened, for Clyde did not truly die, and yet, neither did he survive. He awakens in a world he clearly understands is not his own, a foreign element in a foreign land. One that had no link to the world he came from. One that knew nothing of either Clyde Arrowny, or the mercenary Shadow.
Had he been given a second chance? An opportunity to start over, to put distance between himself and the sins of his past? Was that even possible for a man such as him? Could he eke out a normal existence among this place and its people, as if he truly deserved such a thing?
Who knows. But it doesn’t look like he has much of a choice, either way.
V. AUTHOR
PLAYER ALIAS:: Ensō OTHER CHARACTERS:: Gilgamesh ROLE-PLAYING EXPERIENCE:: I hyperfixated on this app for five days! LOL HOW YOU FOUND US:: Huehuehuehue FACECLAIM:: Aragorn II Elessar Telcontar, The Lord of the Rings. NOTES FOR CONSIDERATION:: The decision to incorporate a secondary stand-in for Clyde’s appearance is due to a lack of sufficient official artwork, as well as to illustrate the passage of time and accumulation of age. This is how he is expected to appear when not operating under the “Shadow” persona, i.e. “wearing his costume”, and I have offered a link to an image for reference. ROLE-PLAY SAMPLE:: Must be written for the character you are currently applying for. Three paragraph minimum. Third person please.
